


You Need Me

by harlequin421



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Biting, Blood, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marking, Mates, Mentions of knotting, Non explicit but still explicit depictions of sex, Psychic Abilities, Scent Marking, Stiles is like Isaac Mendez from Heroes and Derek is sort of like his Simone but a werewolf, Violence, alternating pov, season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequin421/pseuds/harlequin421
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Nothing ever happens in the order that Stiles sees it.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Need Me

**Author's Note:**

> For my wifey Jessica! Because I adore her, really. And because I adore her, I wrote this instead of writing to _A Revelation in the Light of Day_ ...but I haven't forgotten it! I'll get back to it. It's just that this plot took over my head and wouldn't leave me alone!
> 
> And I'm trying out a new style of writing, hope it doesn't get too confusing!
> 
> And Stiles POV are the even numbers and 0, and Derek's are the odd numbers.

(14)

“ _DEREK!”_

“Stiles, no!”

Stiles ignored Scott’s scream and tore himself out of his arms and ran to the figure that was lying on the pavement. He dropped to his knees turning his body around and shaking him, “Derek!”

He felt Scott’s hands on his shoulder trying to tug him away but he gripped Derek’s jacket in his fists, “No! Derek! Come on! Not now! Not after! Derek you can’t do this to me!”

But Derek didn’t answer.

(There was blood on his lips smearing down to his chin. A gash running across his forehead smearing more blood down his face. His neck was at an odd angle. There was blood soaking his t-shirt from where the Alpha had clawed into him and pitched him across the lawn. His radius and ulna were broken in his left arm. The left side of his pelvic girdle shattered. There was a gash on his thigh bleeding profusely. His fibula was poking out of his left leg. His left ankle twisted at an angle. Stiles didn’t need to look down to make sure. He’d seen it before.)

“Stiles,” Scott says again this time more panicky than the rest.

Then there was a howl, a sound so deep and bone shattering, and so heartbreakingly sad, that Stiles gaze shifted from Derek’s still body, and his still open empty eyes, to the creature- _MONSTER_ -who had done this to him.

The thing had reared his head back and was howling at the moon, something so full of loss, that it hit Stiles right in the heart, and he couldn’t contain the sob that fell from his mouth. He looked away from the still howling creature and buried his head in Derek’s neck, taking in the scent of blood, but also the deeper scent of Derek which was piney and cloyingly sweet. He let the tears fall then and pressed his mouth right there on Derek’s neck, before letting Scott pull him to his feet.

The thing had stopped howling but had stepped closer, and Stiles gritted his teeth, “If it’s the last thing that I do in my miserably pathetic life, I will tear you apart with my bare hands. Do you understand me?”

The thing stopped moving, its blood red eyes looking unblinkingly at Stiles.

Stiles felt Scott dragging him backwards and into the school and he screamed, “I WILL KILL YOU!”

(1)

“I think I met my mate today, Uncle. It’s weird. Not how I expected to meet him. First of all that’s the thing, it’s a guy. I thought mates were supposed to be partners that would help you create a better generation of wolves? I guess we were wrong about that. I know it’s him. I felt the wolf try to reach him. It took everything that I had in me to not approach him. It would’ve been bad. He’s only sixteen. Almost a baby. The same age I was when Kate…

But that’s not the only problem. His best friend is the new Beta. The one that I told you about.  So he’s pretty distrustful of me. They both are. Won’t let me help them. I have to resort to threats and barely concealed lies. It’s probably a good thing that the Beta isn’t trained well or else I would have much more trouble keeping him away from the truth.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. This Alpha it killed Laura. I know it wasn’t the Argents. Even though I have every reason to believe it was. I’m kind of lost here. I’ve never been on my own like this before. I’ve always had someone who could give me direction. I’m not meant to be on my own like this. I don’t have what it takes to be a leader. And I know that once I find the Alpha I’m going to rip his throat out with my own teeth.

But that’ll make me the Alpha. And I’m not meant to shoulder all of that responsibility. I know I’ll mess it up. I’ve never made good decisions. You have to wake up Uncle. You’re the only one who can help me. You’re all I have left. I need you to wake up and be strong enough to kill the Alpha to take its place. I need you.”

Derek trailed off taking deep breaths to stop himself from crying. He hadn’t cried when he found Laura’s body. He wasn’t about to cry now.

He looked down at his Uncle’s catatonic body and leaned forward pressing a kiss on his forehead, “Thank you for listening, like always.”

(8)

Stiles felt sore.

His whole body ached.

But especially his…

He shot up in bed and groaned when it sparked pain all over, from the crown of his head down his spine to in between his thighs. It felt especially raw down there, like if he had been flayed alive from the inside out.

He got out of bed stiffly and hobbled over to the full length mirror in his closet door.

He looked at himself, his jaw dropping a bit in shock.

(Face: Cheeks, rubbed raw. Mouth, swollen red. Chin, bitten. Neck: hickeys, rubbed raw, bite marks that had broken the skin, and finger shaped bruises. Shoulders: bitten to draw blood. Chest: scratches and hickeys littered the skin down his stomach, cum stuck in the hairs that lead down to his crotch. Hips: finger shaped bruises. Thighs: rubbed raw and cum splattered.)

He barely caught himself before he fell forward and his eyes shut, and he could see Derek, eyes sparkling blue, inhuman, looking down at him sprawled on his bed naked, where he’d been jerking off before going to sleep, where he’d been preparing to add a third lubed finger to the two that were already in his ass stretching him out while he moaned incoherently and murmured Derek’s name over and over and over, and there was Derek like a fantasy come to real life, and his fingers were clawed and digging into Stiles bed post as he snarled, and Stiles just tipped his head back and to the side falling bonelessly against his sheets adding the third finger and moaning, and Derek had said in a voice so tightly wound that words sounded like sharp sentences _{Stiles. Tell. Me. To. Leave.}_ , and because Stiles had wanted Derek from the moment he saw him in his leather jacket with his stupidly attractive face and the stubble across his chin and his broad shoulders and chest and hands and fingers and thighs and calves and forearms and mouth and tongue and eyes, he just spread his legs wider, mindless, and stuttered out {“Derek come on! I’m not going to last any longer.”}, and Derek had _pounced._

(Sometimes it felt like if Stiles had been waiting his whole life for that moment.)

Stiles could barely contain in the groan.

He felt hot all over. He turned back to his bed and dropped in it.

He lost his virginity last night.

And Derek didn’t even stick around to see if he was okay.

That sparked a different kind of pain in his heart.

(He hadn’t seen _this_ coming.)

(11)

The moment Derek woke up the first thing he did was look for his phone. He could still feel the pain in his neck from whatever it was that that person had injected him with. He could feel it churning through his veins, and he felt like he was dying.

And all he wanted to do was hear Stiles voice one more time.

“Mmmm’llo.”

Derek felt something that was so close to physical pain that he was going to be ill.

Stiles.

Just hearing his voice was a relief.

But.

This, whatever it was that was running through his veins drugging him, poisoning him, it tightened in his veins, and choked him. He couldn’t speak.

“Derek?”

Stiles voice was thick, and breathless, excited and foreboding, like he both wanted to listen to Derek and hang up on him.

Derek didn’t blame him. He deserved it. For what he did. The penalty was death. And he deserved worse than death.

“Derek, please tell me what’s wrong? You sound like you’re dying.”

Panicky and strict.

“Where are you? Why did you leave like that? Derek, are you hurt?”

Angry and melancholy.

“Derek!”

Scared.

“I need you,” he whispered into the phone and heard the hitch in Stiles breath before his eyes fluttered shut and the phone fell from his hands.

(2)

“Derek,” Stiles says calmly like if he wasn’t snooping around the remains of the Hale House.

(Burnt down. A shell of a house. With too much memories. Dust disturbed by foot prints. Derek’s foot prints. Smaller ones that indicate Scott was here recently. Most of the foot prints lead up the stairs. The stairs don’t look safe enough to climb. Walls caved in upon caving walls. Covered in dust and plaster and ashes. Like an undisturbed tomb. It was a tomb. And Derek was living in it.)

Derek leans like if he could receive an Olympic medal for it, and his shirts need to be longer because it stretches at the movement and rides up his abs and he has that very distinct V-shape pointing down to his groin, because of course every single muscle in his body would be ripped to perfection. Stiles has a brief second to wonder how perfect he would look naked, how completely appealing, he wishes he brought supplies to sketch him naked. To trace every single line of his body with his eyes and try to capture them on paper. But he would most likely fail, like he failed with Lydia.

(He wouldn’t really fail.)

But then he’s pressed against the rotting wall, and all that muscle is pressed down his front and he has to struggle to breathe for a second.

(His eyes were intense. And close. Like he could see into Stiles soul. With that one gaze. Stiles was terrified.)

“What are you doing here?” he growls.

(So that’s what he had said.)

Stiles seems to have a death wish because he just shrugs, or tries to shrug, “I figured it’d be a good thing to play friends with the Big Bad Wolf, seeing as we are on the same side and want the same thing.”

Derek’s fingers squeeze around his throat like he would love nothing more than to tear his throat out, but he lets him go, stepping back,

(Like Stiles knew he would.)

and glares, “Where’s Scott?”

Stiles shrugs again and slips his hands into his pants, half because he doesn’t know what to do with them, the other half is because it pulls his pants down and reveals a slip of skin, and he grins knowingly when Derek’s eyes drop down to it, “He’s on a date. With Allison. Argent.”

And there is Stiles, back against the wall again.

(Derek was getting too predictable. And he’d only known him a few days.)

“Is this going to be a thing? Because there are only so many bruises I can have along my back before my dad starts questioning my lacrosse abilities. Not that he doesn’t question them enough. But it’s going to be pretty suspicious if I wind up with bruises when I’m just a benchwarmer.”

Derek lets go again.

(Predictable. Stiles has several sketch books in his closet. One of them is page after page after page after page of Derek pushing and stepping away.)

“Does he even know that the Argents are…?” He trails off with a choked noise, and Stiles _knows._

(Buried even deeper in his closet are sketch books of Kate Argent and Derek. Kissing. Licking. Sucking. Fucking. And her burning his house down.)

“Big Bad Werewolf Hunters?” Stiles asked smirking when Derek looks startled. “Yeah, he knows. But you know young love, blind to all faults.”

Derek’s startled look turned hurt, and then stony.

“I don’t have anything to do with you. Scott is my only responsibility.”

(Predictable.)

“That’s where you’re wrong. Scott is my responsibility, too. Which means we’re sharing responsibility. Think of it as joint custody. You’ll teach him the art to being a wolf. And I’ll keep him human. And where you fail. I’ll pick up the slack. Joint custody. And I don’t want to go into custody battles, because I’m pretty sure that you’d win, by killing the competition. But you won’t kill me cause you need me.”

Derek raised an eyebrow and his eyes looked a little wide and panicky,

(Gotcha.)

“I need you?”

Stiles grinned, and stepped around Derek to go back out and to his car, and get out of there before he broke his resolve, “Yep! You’ll see.”

He could feel Derek watching him walk away.

(Sometimes it feels like he’s been waiting for Derek his whole life.)

(7)

He was really not expecting it to happen.

He had come with the intention of thanking Stiles. Maybe take him out to eat an actual dinner instead of eating day old pizza from the fridge. Because he knows Stiles enough to know that the boy won’t cook unless his father was there to eat the food. The other times he’d eat whatever was easiest, and that included reheated take out that was no good for him.

And he’d also come to explain what had happened.

He hadn’t meant to lose control like that.

But he was hurt, and Stiles had smelt like _Scott_ and that really just wouldn’t do.

He knocked on Stiles window because he owed him that much privacy. Stiles appeared right in front of him rolling his eyes, and opening the window, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Derek crawled in through the window and tilted his head at Stiles.

His heart was beating fast, but he wasn’t scared. He smelled chock full of teenage hormones, a little bit like medication and the underlying sweet scent that made Derek want to bury his face in his neck and just breathe him in. But he didn’t smell like fear.

His heart raced, and his eyes were wide and curious, and he flushed, like if he’d just thought about something, and Derek could remember chasing the flush up his neck with his tongue.

He took in one more breath scenting fresh paint as if someone had painted his room recently, before holding it in and glaring at Stiles, “I actually came here to apologize. What happened last night was inexcusable. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Stiles waved his hand like if Derek’s apology was an annoyance and gave him a half smile sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and Derek tried to not look at the slice of skin that appeared when he did that. Stiles needed to learn to wear shirts that actually fit him, or else Derek really couldn’t be held responsible for his actions.

“I talked to Scott about it actually,” he whispered slowly. Like if he was afraid if he talked any louder it might scare Derek off. “He told me that he’s only ever done that once to Allison, when she hung out with Jackson, and smelled like him. He said that it was instinct to want to get rid of the scent.”

Derek didn’t say anything to that. He was too busy trying not to push Stiles into a wall.

“You can admit that you were jealous and trying to mark your territory,” Stiles says easily. Maybe too easily. And Derek’s eyes snapped to his, and Stiles was grinning openly rocking on his heels and the movement made his pants slip lower along his hips.

“You don’t actually have to worry about Scott. He’s only got eyes for Allison anyway.”

Derek’s eyes tracked the movement of his mouth, and Stiles deliberately licked his lower lip, and Derek had him against the wall tongue tracing the same movement that Stiles tongue had taken before following it into his mouth, and Stiles had moaned hands out of his pockets and in Derek’s hair, tugging harshly in that way that Derek liked. He hooked one of his legs behind Derek’s thigh and rubbed their bodies together, also in that way that Derek liked. And when Derek pulled back to catch his breath, he tilted his head back and to the side exposing his pale throat, also in that way that Derek liked, and it appealed to the wolf, and he wanted to sink his teeth into the vulnerable flesh, and Stiles arched against him, and he knew Stiles would let him.

He moved back.

Stiles slumped against the wall and didn’t even try to catch his breath before he was reaching out for him, “Derek.”

And his voice, was so, wrecked. And Derek had done that, and he wanted to do so much more. He wanted to mark him for the world to see. For any wolf to come within ten feet of him would know that he was his.

But he couldn’t because Stiles doesn’t know what it would mean! To him it would be just sex with a hot guy. But to Derek, it would mean a hell of a lot more. So he left.

He ran away.

Or he tried to run away. He got into his car, and gripped the steering wheel in his fists and closed his eyes. But all he could see behind his eye lids was Stiles flushed and panting and reaching out for him and calling out his name.

He started the car and drove. He was almost half-way home when he pulled an illegal U-turn and was speeding back towards the Stilinski house. He didn’t even lock his car, before he made his way back to Stiles window that was still open.

And there was Stiles.

Naked. With long legs splayed out. Thighs shaking as he arched off the bed with two fingers stretching out his hole, and his other hand moving rapidly over his cock, and his hushed whispers tearing through Derek’s resolve like paper, _“Derek.”_

He snapped.

(4)

Stiles sat in his jeep and contemplated how this was his life now.

(If he breathed in hard enough, he’d be able to still smell the scent of death that had tainted Derek’s natural scent like a cheap perfume. If he squeezed his eyes shut tight enough, he’d be able to see the bullet hole, and the black spidery veins that crawled up and down his arm. If he stood still enough, he could still hear his harsh breathing. If he concentrated enough, he could see the drawing he’d done last night on his wall that depicted Derek eyes glassy, dead.)

He wished he could go back to being in denial,        

(He had never been in denial.)

but everything was happening just like in the drawings, and the sketchbooks.

He even started labeling them, to see if there was some sort of pattern. But no, there were things he’d drawn years ago that were happening now, and things that he’d drawn two weeks ago that were happening now.

He was here to make sure that Derek was okay,

(Really okay, because he’d never trust Derek to take care of himself. Not after what he’d seen.)

nothing else, nothing more.

He slipped out of the car, and made his way to the Hale House

(If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear the screams, and smell the smoke, so thick in his mouth that he’d choke on it.)

stopping right in front of the porch.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” Derek growled from the shadows of the doorway, and Stiles grinned unrepentantly.

He shrugged and looked at the wind whipping through the trees, “Wild nights are my glory.”

Derek growled again and Stiles’ grin just widened, “I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay.

(And not dead, like I drew you.)

And to thank you for freaking Scott out. He hasn’t left my bed in the past two hours. What did you guys go do anyway?”

(Stiles had a sketch book filled with portraits of the Hale Family. Even before the fire, he’d always drawn Peter Hale with the burn scars.)

But Derek didn’t speak. He made a whining noise, like if he was in pain, and Stiles stepped forward, “Are you okay?”

And then there was Stiles backed up against the railing on the steps that lead to the porch. And there was Derek pressed along his front, his face buried in Stiles neck, as he breathed and breathed and breathed.

Stiles held still while his fingers gripped the banister to stop himself from reaching out.

(Derek was skittish like a new born colt, if Stiles reached out, he’d run away.)

Derek cupped his hands on the back of his neck, and kneaded the muscle, Stiles let out an involuntary groan, and felt his cheeks flush. And Derek, he nosed down his throat, and then opened his mouth, and Stiles could feel his teeth right along the tendon, but instead of biting he licked a long stripe from Stiles’ shirt collar to the back of his ear, and he used his fingers to tilt Stiles head further back, and then he was licking again, from his collar to right below his jaw, and again across his Adam’s apple and biting on his chin, and again on the other side, his fingers digging in and making Stiles pliant against him, he didn’t stop until Stiles neck was covered in drool, drool that cooled in the cool night air, and made Stiles shivered.

(He would’ve been disgusted. Should’ve been disgusted, but he’d seen worse ways to mark someone, and he knew if he struggled Derek would just bite, and he’d already seen how the conversation would go with his dad, and his dad still needed more time before they had that conversation.)

Derek moved his hands from the back of his head and spread them out along Stiles neck tipping his head back even more and burying his face right against the dip of Stiles collarbones mouthing against the collar of his shirt.

He took several deep breaths, and when Stiles felt that he was calm enough, he cleared his throat, “All better now?”

Derek moved away so fast that Stiles got whiplash. He made to follow him but Derek growled, “Go home, Stiles.”

Stiles felt that he’d pushed Derek enough for today.

(He was going to crack soon.)

“Alright, just tell me that you’re okay,” he says rocking back on his heels and licking his lips.

“I’m fine,” more growling.

Stiles grinned and saluted him, before turning around and heading back to his jeep. He let out a breath and started the car, before heading back home and hoping that the fact that he’d spent most of the day with Derek would throw Scott off of the fact that Stiles now probably reeked of him.

(13)

The next time Derek woke up the Alpha was there, all bright red eyes and growling teeth, and he tried to get up to defend himself but he felt weak, too weak to do anything but groan weakly.

The Alpha moved closer and licked at the back of his neck before gripping it in his teeth and shaking him.

Derek yelped, but the Alpha’s teeth tightened on him and suddenly he was lifted into the air, and being carried around like a pup. He made to struggle, but the Alpha clamped his teeth down as a warning, letting him know that he’d sever his head off without any remorse.

Then suddenly he was being dropped. He struggled to his feet, and almost fell over. He looked around to see where he could escape to and saw that he was in front of the High School. How had they gotten there? He looked, to see that his car was several feet back, which meant that the Alpha had driven them here.

“Who are you?” he asked hating how weak his voice sounded.

The thing gave a feral grin, but before it could say anything, there was the screech of a car and doors opening, and Derek turned at the familiar scents to see Scott and Stiles. Stiles who had covered up the marks that he’d given him and looked like an animal attack victim, had started towards, but Scott held him back, and Derek wanted to wave or something to assure them that he was fine, but he was already so close to passing out again.

And then something sliced into his back cutting through his lungs and severing some ribs. He couldn’t scream because his throat and mouth were suddenly coated in blood.

A scream from Stiles was the last thing he heard.

(6)

It was lunch time, and Stiles was tapping his fingers on the table instead of eating.

Scott was looking at him weird. His nostrils flared weirdly whenever he got too close to Stiles.

Stiles just wanted to get the conversation over with already, but Allison was still there.

She must’ve sensed that they had something to talk about that didn’t involve her, because she kissed Scott and told him that she needed to do some research in the library and that she’d see in their next class.

Stiles could kiss her.

(Would’ve kissed her. Could’ve kissed her. In a world where he’d been bitten instead of Scott, but he would’ve broken her heart because of Derek.)

He waited until she was out of sight before turning to Scott. Scott had a goofy smile on his face, that turned serious on the look on Stiles face, “Is your dad okay?”

Stiles nodded distractedly already used to that question whenever he had something serious to tell Scott, “He’s fine. Listen. Derek did something last night…”

Scott interrupted him,

(Like Stiles knew he would. Stiles knew how this conversation was going to end, but he needed Scott to tell him what he needed to know.)

“What did he do?”

Stiles looked at him in surprise because he sounded protective, “Just tell me something. You ever lick Allison’s neck before?”

Scott blushed and Stiles smirked enjoying not being the one embarrassed for a bit.

He coughed and looked away before looking back at Stiles, “Well, yeah. Mostly after she hangs out with Jackson.” He spits the name out like it makes him sick.

(Stiles can relate too well. Jackson _hisses_ in his dreams.)

“I think it might be a territorial thing. Like I’m trying to get his scent off her. It makes the wolf feel much more at ease if she doesn’t smell like him.”

Stiles tilted his head thinking.

He knew about the marking thing, but now he figured it had to do with Scott, well that was interesting. Derek marked him because he smelled like Scott.

(He was going to snap soon. Stiles wondered if he’d be able to handle it.)

“Why are you asking?” Scott says pulling Stiles attention back to him. “Did Derek do that to you?”

Stiles really didn’t appreciate his incredulous tone, “I think that Allison is going to need help carrying all those books she's going to check out from the library."

Scott didn’t even spare him a backwards glance.

He sighed poking around his food.

(There was something that he was missing, but he didn’t know what it was. Derek was going to snap and claim, it was in his nature. And Stiles could endure it all. But what was Derek going to do afterwards?)

(9)

It all came back to him in flashes.

Patches of skin. Smooth silky thighs. Hitched breath. Feet digging into the backs of his thighs. Red mouth. Bruised neck. Scratched chest. Pleasure and pain. Intense. And so tight. Tighter than anything. The sense that he was home. Finally home. Rapid heartbeats. Nails imbedded on his shoulders. Grunts. Moans. Groans. Screams. And his name over and over like a prayer. Like a plead. Like a punishment. Biting hard enough to draw blood. Groaning at the taste. Rutting deeper. Knotting. Tying them together. Pleasurepain. Something sharp and swift. Ecstasy. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Balls deep. So good. Better than anything. _Stiles._ Said like a benediction. Said like a curse. And coming. Inside. No barriers. Hard. Harder than he’d ever come before. And Stiles eyes rolling to the back of his head. And his mouth open wide in a silent scream. Derek’s mouth on his shoulder. Biting hard. Blackout.

He’d woken up. And panicked.

Because Stiles was there sleeping, bruised, bloodied, _taken._

And Derek had done that.

Derek had taken him.

Derek had hurt him.

The one good thing he had left in his life.

He didn’t deserve him.

So he fled.

Because what else was he supposed to do?

He ran to his Uncle because he didn’t where else to go, and he needed to talk to someone even if the person couldn’t talk back.

He reached the Facility in record time and got out of the car. It was late, but it wasn’t like he didn’t do this all of the time.

He broke in through the window and took a couple of minutes to calm himself.

He hands were shaking, and his senses had gone haywire, which is probably why he didn’t realize someone was behind him until the needle went through the vein in his neck. He grabbed whoever it was and threw the person aside, but before he could see who it was, whatever it was that they injected into him worked way too damn fast to be just for a human, and before he could do much more than pull the needle out, he was passing out.

(12)

Stiles fingers shook as he called his best friend. He didn’t even know what time it was, though it had to be late. And Scott was either with Allison or home. Either way, Stiles needed him.

Scott answered after the fourth ring and Stiles let out a breath in relief, “Wassit?”

Stiles couldn’t afford pleasantries, “I need you to come outside and get in my car and help me find Derek.”

“Why?” Scott asked sounding more asleep than awake, and Stiles made a noise in frustration, “Because I think he’s hurt. I went to his house and there were hunters there. I just need to find him. Please Scott.”

“Why do you think he’s hurt?” Scott asked but he sounded awake and there was a ruffling sound which meant he was getting dressed. And Stiles almost sobbed with relief.

“I’ll tell you in the car, just hurry!” He hung up on him and stuffed his phone in his pocket. He drummed against the wheel and wiggled his legs. He still couldn’t believe that he’d fallen asleep after meeting Kate.

(She’d looked exactly how he had drawn her. Except her face was in a sneer instead of in the throes of passion.)

Scott scrambled into the passenger seat, and Stiles turned on the car and punched the gas, “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Stiles sighed, “It’s a long story. The first thing I need to tell you is that I’m sort of psychic.”

“What?” Scott yelped sounding hurt and like if he was expecting a different answer.

Stiles didn’t turn to look at him, “Remember when we were six and I drew those stick figures in the mud, and I pointed out you and me, and your leg was at an odd angle. And two weeks later you’d broken your leg in the same park?”

Scott gulped, “Yeah.”

“Well it’s something like that,” Stiles says turning the corner a bit sharp. “I have these dreams, and I draw them, and sometimes they happen and sometimes they don’t. The future isn’t set in stone. It changes all of the time. People make different decisions. Take different routes. Talk to different people, or maybe not even talk at all. Nothing I see is permanent. I can never be sure of what’s real or not. But I feel it when it’s bad. And this, something is going to happen to Derek. And it’s going to be bad. Please, help me find him.”

(This speech he’d memorized. He’d written it over and over, but he’d never had the chance to tell Scott anything. It was never the right time.)

“Okay,” Scott says and Stiles would've kissed him if he wasn't driving.

Scott closes his eyes and his nostrils flare again, and he noses in Stiles direction and Stiles flushes and realizes that Scott had probably been asking about his mauled looking appearance, and why he probably smelled like Derek again.

(He was going to smell like Derek for a long time, probably for the rest of his life. He couldn’t see that far, yet.)

His head turned sharply and when he opened his eyes they were gold, “I smell Derek, and the Alpha. Turn here!”

Stiles made a sharp turn that he’s pretty sure his car wasn’t made to make and drove.

Scott sniffed the air again, “I think they’re at the school.”

Stiles gripped the wheel and tried not to freak out even more as the sense of foreboding overwhelmed him.

(5)

Derek waited until he could no longer hear the car to go running.

He could track Stiles back home, even more so now that boy smelled like him. But he wasn’t in control. If he did that who knows what would happen.

He knows what he wanted to happen, he wanted to mark and claim, and Stiles seemed like he wouldn’t mind.

If Derek was being honest with himself, it seemed more like Stiles was aware of everything he was doing. How his every action was slowly chaffing away at the little self-control that Derek had left.

Derek skidded to a stop and howled.

He fell forward and caught himself on a tree, claws slicing through the bark easily, tree sap covering his fingers fast.

The tree was bleeding. Derek had made the tree bleed.

He could only imagine how easily he’d make Stiles bleed.

Stiles who was wholly human. Whose scent overwhelmed his senses.

Stiles who he could find even if he was dying.

Is that what being mates meant?

_(You need me.)_

Derek pulled away from the tree growling and lost himself to the animal inside.

(10)

Stiles wasn’t an idiot.

He knew that Derek would’ve freaked out.

(He would’ve been more freaked out.)

He’d been controlling himself and suddenly this teenager could snap his control like it was an overstretched elastic band.

Stiles understood that.

(More than Derek would ever know.)

But you did not take someone’s virginity like that and then leave them. It just wasn’t done. What sort of etiquette classes did they give werewolves to cause them to have these type of manners? Or maybe it was just Derek.

Stiles parked his jeep at the Hale House and saw the dark green SUV.

(Hunters.)

He could’ve left, but then he saw a familiar looking dark blonde head.

(Kate Argent. Beautiful but deadly. Femme fatale. The one who seduced Derek to get the information to torch his house. Crazy eyes. Even crazier head.)

Stiles gagged

(If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear her moans as Derek fucked her.)

and got out of the car, because now that he’d been caught, he may as well join the party.

Stiles knew he roughly looked like he’d been mauled by something.

It had been his lucky day when he woke up to find that his dad had already gone to work. He’d taken a shower and scrubbed at his thighs and the mess on his stomach. And he’d applied antibacterial ointment to the cuts and had covered the bites with gauze. He still doesn’t know what he’s going to tell his father, but he knew that Kate would know exactly what had happened.

Stiles tried not to let it show how much he relished the jealousy that overtook her features before she smirked at him, “Hey there little pup, looks like you’ve been mauled. Want to tell me who did that to you?”

Stiles cocked his head to the side, “Most people would assume that it was an it not a who. But we both know that you know what it was, so please stop with the silly little games Kate, they don’t really suit you.”

She looked startled, but then she started to laugh.

(Stiles didn’t want to see what Derek had seen in her, but he could see it. Knew where to find it. From the shape of her mouth {as it stretched around Derek’s cock} to her full breasts {in Derek’s mouth} and her long legs {wrapped around Derek’s hips, urging him to go faster}. He could see what had been so appealing. Doesn’t mean he had to like it.)

“You have me at a disadvantage, sweetheart,” she drawled moving closer. “You know who I am, but I have no idea who you are.”

Stiles grinned and licked his bottom lip feeling the bile at the back of his throat when her eyes followed the movement,

(Once a predator always a predator.)

“And I’d like to keep it that way thanks.”

She pouted at him, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

She sneered at him, “It seems Der-bear has been talking bad about me. Don’t believe everything he says. I’m sure he has a biased view on how the events passed.”

Stiles smirked back, “I’m pretty sure the one with the biased view here is you. And besides who said anything about someone named ‘Der-bear.’”

She smiled, “Oh, I can see why he likes you. How about you come over here and tell me all about how you got those interesting bruises and let me see what’s underneath that gauze and I promise to make it worth your while?”

(Predictable: _How about you come home with me afterschool and show me how awesome your skills at lacrosse are? I promise to make it worth your while._ )

Stiles moved to go back into the car, “No thank you. I’d prefer to keep the gauze on you don’t know what kind of bacteria could be lying around all that dust and ashes.”

She stepped forward reaching to her side for what Stiles knew was a knife. Stiles smirked as he closed the door to his jeep rolling the window down, “Ah, ah ah, no Kate. Don’t you have a code?”

And before she could say anything else, he started the car and was out of there.

He knew that she’d know who he was before the night was out.

But she wouldn’t dare to do anything.

Because she wanted to know how he knew.

And Stiles knew that she loved a puzzle.

(Stiles also knew that she would be taken care off before she could even try.)

(3)

It is instinct to find Stiles when he’s dying.

_(You need me.)_

The bullet’s poison was spreading through his veins and he didn’t know what it was. Only that it hurt. It hurt so badly, and he wanted to die. But instead of crawling into his old room and curling up in the corner and dying there, he went to find Stiles.

_(You need me.)_

He searched for him, catching his scent and following it to the school.

_(You need me.)_

He wasn’t aware of anything else, and when he sensed that it was close he held his hand out, and heard the screech of the tires as Stiles stopped his car fast.

_(You need me.)_

He heard his voice calling, “Derek.” There was a note of hysteria to it.

_(You need me.)_

And Scott was there too, but Scott wasn’t important. Stiles was, and he was losing hold of the wolf, it wanted to go to Stiles and bury it’s head in his scent and go to sleep, die in peace.

_(You need me.)_

How did he know? How could he possibly know? How was it that he knew? He didn’t know about werewolves before now. How could he know that he was Derek’s mate? That he meant more than anything?

_(You need me.)_

He groaned and held on to Scott as Scott led him into the car. He sat and could smell Stiles all over it. Stiles got into the car, and it was all Derek could do to not tip over into his lap and just bury his face there in his scent.

_(You need me.)_

I need you, his wolf howled inside scratching to be let out.

_(You need me.)_

He closed his eyes against everything. The onslaught of emotions from Stiles as his babbling got increasingly more frantic. He concentrated on his heartbeat and it drowned everything else, because while Stiles smelled panicky, his heartbeat was steady.

_(You need me.)_

“I need the bullet,” he rasped. “Need it to counteract the poison. If not it’s going to kill me.”

_(You need me.)_

Stiles heart went still at that, and he stopped talking. Then he breathed in and pulled his phone out, “Scott go to the Argents and get the bullets from a box that has a flower on it. It’s in Kate’s bag in the guest room underneath the bed and please hurry!”

_(You need me.)_

“How did you…?” But his voice trailed off and he felt his body spasmed and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

_(You need me.)_

“Derek!” Stiles screamed. And it was the last thing Derek heard.

_(You need me.)_

When he woke up again, he didn’t remember the conversation that Stiles had with Scott.

_(You need me.)_

_Yes, I do._

(0)

Stiles looked around the room.

(It was small. Maybe, ten feet by ten feet by ten feet. Perfectly symmetrical. There were diplomas hanging on the walls. _Masters. Doctorates. High School. University of California San Diego._ Drawings. Inkblots (Wolves. Wolf. Man-wolf. Moons. Monkshood.). A window. A desk on the far left side. Baubles and trinkets and more pictures and papers littered it. Three chairs. Just like he remembered.)

Stiles looked at the psychiatrist.

(Pretty. Mocha colored skin. Light eyes. Dark hair pulled back into a low bun at the nape of her neck. Glasses slipping down her nose. Elegant and poised. Eyes were sharp. Cataloging his every movement. Hands clasped on top of the desk. Nice trimmed nails. Professional. She was looking at him with the same gaze he’d seen staring at him out of his sketchbook three weeks ago.)

“Tell me something about yourself Stiles?”

The fact that she used his nickname instantly relaxes him and he hates it.

(She’s going to try to get under his skin, but he’d already decided not to let her.)

“I like to draw.”

A truth. Something that everyone knows.

She nods and looks down at the papers in front of her, “Your dad mentioned. He also mentioned the ones that he found. Have you been having trouble sleeping?”

Stiles resisted the urge to snort.

(His last dream involved her with her neck bent at an odd angle.)

“He showed me some of the pictures Stiles, and they’re pretty gruesome. I’m just trying to help you.”

Stiles didn’t say anything.

(Because she was just trying to help him, and she would’ve been a good sidekick to have while he dealt with whatever was going to happen to Scott, but she was going to die, and he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn't let someone else die.)

“Has anything happened to you to make you have nightmares about these things?”

Stiles inhaled quickly and tried not to think of the nightmares, that were just that nightmares

(Just like he didn’t want to think about the pictures he drew and burned of his mother’s grave two weeks before she’d even gotten sick.)

and nothing more.

He let out the breath, smiled at the psychiatrist and channeled his inner John Watson, “Nothing ever happens to me.”

(15)

The first thing that he was aware of was that there was no more pain. He felt as if he’d spent every moment before the Alpha had clawed through him and tossed him like a doll, was spent in pain.

The next thing was the smell. It was musty and dusty and not really pleasant, but there was a closer smell that was so sweet, sweeter than anything he’d ever smelled, still tainted a bit by medication, but not much. He could hear a dripping, the wind as it hit the roof and the metal groaning against it almost ready to collapse and a scratching sound.

He opened his eyes with difficulty and looked at the metal roof above him. He looked to the side to see that the scratching was coming from Stiles who had a sketchpad balanced on top of his knees and had his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he drew. Derek had never seen him this relaxed before.

He gulped and his throat ached with how dry it was. He tried to say Stiles, but all that came out was a hiss, but it was enough to have Stiles look over at him. He stood up letting his sketchpad drop to the floor and hurried to Derek’s side eyes wide and frantic and relieved. He skidded to a stop beside the mattress that Derek was lying down on and dropped to his knees beside him, “Are you okay? Do you need anything? I have water in the cooler, and took the liberty of buying a whole bunch of burgers. Do you like burgers? I bought hotdogs too. I can make a fire and cook them for you. Are you hungry? Does it hurt? Should I have taken you to the hospital? Scott said that I should’ve, but I knew you were going to heal fast and really your injuries were really bad. You’re lucky Scott knows how to realign bones, or else they’d have healed badly.”

Derek reached out and pressed his fingers against Stiles mouth, and Stiles grabbed his hand and crushed his fingers to his mouth, “Oh god, you have no idea how scared I was! I thought you were dead! I saw you die! And there had been so many near misses that I thought it would have never happened! And then there you were dead just like I saw, and I couldn’t handle it! If it wasn’t for Scott I’d have gone after the Alpha myself!”

Stiles wasn't making any sense, but that was comforting. 

Derek sat up, which turned out to be more difficult than he thought it was going to be, and Stiles reached out to help him propping him against the wall behind him. He made to back off, but Derek gave in to his wolf’s demands and tugged Stiles until he was sprawled over him. Stiles tucked himself between Derek and the wall and laid his head down on his shoulder baring his neck to Derek. Derek leaned forward and buried his face in Stiles neck breathing him in, reassuring himself that Stiles was right there, safe and alright. That Stiles hadn’t run away, even though he had every right to.

Stiles fingers gripped into his arm, “You were poisoned. And I didn’t know. And then the Alpha he killed you. Your heart had stopped beating! But it had triggered the healing response since you bled out the poison, and I didn’t know what to do. The Alpha had left howling, and Scott helped me bring you here. It’s pretty abandoned, and sort of condemned, but it was the only place where I didn’t think they’d find you.”

“Stiles,” Derek says throat still dry. Stiles made to scramble to get him water, but Derek had to make him understand that he was fine. “I’m okay.”

Stiles didn’t look at him.

“Hey look at me.”

Stiles’ eyes found his and he had been crying. Derek wiped his tears away with his thumbs, “I’m alive Stiles. And I’m here. And you took care of me when I needed you.”

Stiles gave him a watery smile, “Finally admitting that you need me.”

Derek leaned forward and pressed their lips together softly. Stiles fingers dragged through his hair tugging, and he grunted pulling back, “Yes, I need you.”

Stiles licked his lips and leaned in to bump their noses together, “Ditto.”

**Author's Note:**

> I want to warn for character death, even though the character doesn't really stay dead, so here is the warning, just in case you need it.


End file.
